


In Name

by emrisemrisemris



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gen, ME3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrisemrisemris/pseuds/emrisemrisemris
Summary: Jack calls up the Illusive Man and demands to know where her mother is.





	In Name

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [Tumblr](https://emrisemrisemris.tumblr.com/post/160129383658/threewhiskeylunch-omegastation-ive-been) in response to a headcanon posted by omegastation ([@stationlittle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stationlittle)):
> 
>  
> 
> _I’ve been obsessed with the idea that Jack finds the Illusive Man during ME3 and asks him where her mother is. She doesn’t use violence, she only uses words. When she’s gone, he’s not dead but he might as well be because she knew exactly what to say to crush him completely. And she now knows where her mother is._
> 
>  
> 
> Other notes: I figured the Illusive Man would have an instance of EVA running as the station AI, as well as sending a copy off with a body to pose as Dr Coré. Per some of the expanded-universe stuff, TIM was originally a mercenary called Jack Harper.

It had been a trying day.

He'd slept less than well, and spent rather more hours than he would have wished piecing together fragmentary - and frequently contradictory - reports from the strike teams spread across the ragged front of the Reaper advance, scavenging from the wrecks of the few giant machines that fell.

He'd expected to encounter resistance: even a fragment of a Reaper corpse held alien machinery of unknowable power and incalculable value. A  _ single  _ intact weapons system from a Sovereign-class, he judged, would pay for every cent of the four billion credits he'd poured into Shepard. Yet the only competition he'd found in the search were disorganised bands of looters. The galactic militaries were systematically destroying the hulks wherever they could, leaving the wreckage to burn in atmosphere, or steering spaceborne flotsam into gas giants or the cores of stars.

If the Reaper civilization had been discovered dead - stark, articulated skeletons the size of cities, half-sunk in deserts, barnacle-wreathed in oceans, or drifting, frosted with interstellar dust - if, if - they would have been pored over, excavated, dissected, treated as the awe-inspiring resources that they were.  _ Used.  _ Humanity climbed to the stars on the backs of the Protheans. How much further could the Reapers take them?

But they had turned up awake, and instead every morning his terminal greeted him with reports of another hoard of priceless knowledge sent to burn. Even with the new implants, he had nowhere near enough troops to search more than a handful of the surviving wrecks before they were intercepted. 

It was an absurd waste, practically a desecration.

He had noticed his temper shortening in the past months, even as he'd worked to maintain the veneer he'd so carefully built. The mask had never slipped. But he'd been tempted more often of late. By Leng, for one; Leng had botched an assignment that Shepard (the comparison was unavoidable) could've handled blindfold. He'd had to consciously resist the urge to order EVA to kill him. It had been the right decision - the assassin remained useful, and every tool malfunctioned occasionally - but the temptation had been noteworthy.

Perhaps he was simply over-tired. He'd been working into the sleep cycle more often, too. 

He had closed the last of his files, and resolved to go to bed, when the projector console chimed.

"You have an incoming call," said EVA from the main display. "It originates from the Citadel; I have been unable to trace it more precisely so far. The line is extremely well secured."

"Intriguing. I'll take it here." A moment later, as an afterthought, he added "Give me visual notification when you've traced the call."

The projection buzzed for a moment, then held. He recognised the tattoos first; the outfit was … more professional than she'd previously favoured, and she'd grown her hair. (Interesting. Filed for future reference. She'd kept the shaven head for years, long after ostensibly abandoning the cult she'd shaved it for.)

He lit a cigarette, diverted.

"Subject Zero. It's been too long."

"Yeah. I've been busy." She crossed her arms. On some people the gesture looked defensive; on her, it was a challenge. "Serving the greater good, fighting for the future of humanity. Looking after a class of children you tried to kill. The usual."

"Your squad of trainee biotics. It was unfortunate we weren't able to recruit them." He studied the lines of her face. She looked healthier, although exhausted. (Noted.) "I assume your Alliance unit isn't aware you're in contact with Cerberus."

"I told the kids I had to call my scumbag stepfather," Zero said, shrugging. "Close enough."

"Fascinating," he said dryly, and waited for her to get to the point.

She waited a fraction longer than he would have given her credit for before saying "I want to know where my mother is."

Doubly fascinating. He took a drag. "Now why on earth do you think I'd know that?"

"Like you'd ever throw away anything that might be useful," Zero retorted. "You probably keep leftover bits of string."

"Your thought process is as fascinating as always." He tapped out the end of his cigarette with deliberate slowness. "Let's presume you're right. Information is currency, as you're well aware. What do you have to offer?"

"Couldn't be enough that you fucking owe me, could it?" Zero said, with a shake of the head that looked almost sad. "All right. You tell me where to find my mother, and I'll give you an extremely important piece of information."

"Which is?"

"A goddamn reality check," Zero said flatly. She unfolded herself and leaned forward, onto the unseen console of her comms projector. "You're losing. Not to mention, fighting the wrong damn war. And I think you want out."

He stared into the gridded orange projection of her eyes, looking for insanity. He found none.

She wasn't waiting for him to speak. " _Subject Zero, the_ _psychotic_ _biotic_ -" She rolled her eyes; he could practically hear the quotation marks clanging down around the words. "So it's not as classy as _the Illusive Man,_ but hey, it rhymes." She straightened up, shrugging. "I know what it's like to have your entire life eaten by a reputation. First it's a weapon. Then it's a shield. Then maybe one day you realise you want to do literally anything else with your life and then it's a pair of krogan-size concrete boots."

He took another drag on the cigarette, perversely fascinated. She was infuriating, of course, and yet it was quite the psychological study to watch her go. Of course, she was clearly as maladjusted as ever - if somewhat more articulate about it - and when had she started talking to him as if they were equals?

"I've been there. It's shit. I'd get out while you can. Or else -" Another shrug, supremely unconcerned. "Either we win, and someone like Shepard puts a bullet in your skull. Or we lose, and maybe you get to be king of the ash pile for five minutes before the Reapers melt you down. Neither of 'em sounds like the glorious future of humanity to  _ me _ ."

"You're gravely mistaken if you think I'm motivated by personal power," he said dryly. "My cause has always been, and remains, the advancement of the human race. By any means necessary."

"Yeah," said Zero, in tones dripping with scepticism. "Whatever."

Eventually the silence became tiresome, and he enquired "Is that all?" 

"One more thing," Zero said. "Can I ask you a question?"

Where was that trace? He had to be looking at military-grade encryption, if EVA was taking this long about it. "Be my guest."

She rocked back, weight onto her back heel. The movement reminded him of - no; the memory was gone. Not Subject Zero; someone else. A faint recollection of poise and coiled strength, the moment before her biotics exploded around her and the laws of physics sat down to cry. 

Insane, yes, but a superb specimen of humanity. It was almost a shame she seemed so determined not to understand.

And then she said "Do you have anyone who calls you by your name anymore?" 

Her gaze searched him, as if she'd find an answer in the smoke or the engraving on his eyes. 

"Cuz my kids, they call me Jack. Most of 'em don't know me as anything else." A fraction of a pause, a heartbeat. "I recommend it."

"Jack," he repeated. 

The syllable tasted acrid. Rotten. 

Where was that trace? He almost asked EVA out loud, then bit the words back, and with false lightness said instead "It wasn't your birth name. I assume you know that."

"Figured," she said. He'd thrown the barb in the dark, expecting blood, finding air. She shrugged again. "Guess some fucker at Pragia picked it off a list. I'll have to ask Mom what it used to be." She eyed him speculatively. "Not gonna change it, though. It's mine now."

Like she owned it. Like that was something she got to say.

A console lit up around the arm of his chair. EVA had the trace. Citadel, yes, Tayseri Ward, yes, - a familiar NavPoint - familiar, why - familiar  _ because it was a Cerberus safe house,  _ and a Cerberus sealed line, and this was past infuriating and into unacceptable.

He'd have to track down those students. Recruit the lot of them. Her as well. Weld a control circuit across her amp and there wouldn't even be any need for the full conversion. It'd be delicate work - something to oversee personally -

"This has been a genuinely illuminating conversation." The projection was distorted by distance and encryption; she wouldn't hear his voice fraying. He tapped a command into the console projected on the arm of the chair.  _ Get a Citadel agent to that building.  _ "I'll have someone query the records and retrieve the … information you wanted. It seems like the least I can do."

"Least you could do. Yeah, that's one way of putting it." Zero shook her head. "I don't believe you've listened to a word I said. Well, I tried. Enjoy the rest of your life, I guess."

She reached for an unseen switch, and the projection fizzled out.

He stared at the blank projection plate for some time.

He needed to sleep, but he had work to do.

Eventually, he told EVA to make two calls. The first was to the archival VI, with a search request on the old Teltin records. The second was to the head of the team studying the technology they'd pulled out of the turian husks, the marauders. It was the most advanced version of the Reaper implant system they'd so far managed to retrieve, a very promising avenue of research. The marauders retained more sentience and more autonomy than other husks; they were capable of guile and surprisingly sophisticated tactics. And like all the variants of the husk technology, it made them stronger and faster, single-minded and tireless.

It was a minute before the scientist picked up. Of course. They were still working on a normal day-night cycle. Time to push them harder, perhaps.

"Sir?"

"I'm coming down for a tour of implant lab three. I'd like a progress report and a requisitions list. Yes, now." He rose from the chair, and ground the cigarette out on the arm. "I think we need to advance the timetable on your work."

 

*

A minute or two later, her terminal chimed. The message gave a location: a sector, a system, a world, a city, a name.

  
It was signed  _ With my compliments, Jack. _


End file.
